


Holding It Together

by DontForgetToPanic



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, I swear this story isn't as depressing as the warning may suggest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 06:18:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontForgetToPanic/pseuds/DontForgetToPanic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bit like King Arthur I guess, it takes place in Camelot and is a love story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holding It Together

**Author's Note:**

> So I kinda got inspired by the novel One Day haha. At the beginnings of the sections there's a date and for some weird reason I actually make the dates mean something, so the last two numbers in the year tells you how old Louis is…for example the year 414 would mean that Louis is 14 years old. also I messed with time, so I'm not joking when I tag this as an AU  
> the major character death is actually at the end, and it's not in such a brash dramatic fashion as is common in a few of my other stories, so I hope that warning doesn't worry you too much

May 10th, 414 a.c.e. 

 

He finds it rather deterring, the fact that he still gets lost after all this time. Back home it was easy, he could navigate throughout their little village with his eyes shut and ears closed simply by the feel of the earth under his bare feet (that’s another thing he doesn’t like about the castle, apparently it’s frowned upon to go about with naked toes, honestly the amount of clothing these noble people wear is astounding) while here all the walls look the same, each portrait no different than the next and all the doors simply a duplicate of each other. The people are all the same too, no doubt trained to be carbon copies from birth and any difference, any individualism, stamped out immediately, even in the servant class. It’s a wonder, he thinks, that these people don’t die of boredom.  
“What are you doing, you insolent child, you should already be in attendance.” A hand is clasped around the back of his neck and the words are more hissed than spoken in his ear, blunt nails digging into his flesh all but drawing blood. Caught by surprise he had no way to draw a breath so he can do no more than wheeze out his answer, a light “I’m lost”, which just causes his current master to squeeze tighter. “Don’t play dumb with me, brat, you weren’t lost yesterday when you spent the whole day hiding. How more obvious can it be, the path to the royal chambers are paved by the purple rugs. Now go, the queen and price are waiting for you, or were those lashings you received last night not enough for you?” He wasn’t waiting for an answer, only throwing the boy forward so he fell and smacked his nose on the carpet and kicking him until he scrambled up and all but scurried down the hall, following the purple rugs.  
He enters the room with three knocks and a bow, just as he was taught, and he doesn’t raise his head unless he’s told to. No one acknowledges his presence (or at least, if they do he has no way of knowing, as their feet are the only part of them that he can see, so the green eyes poking out from behind a mane of curls are out of his line of vision). There are three grown women and a boy, he notes from the shoes, and the boy must be just on the brink of becoming a teen guessing by his size. The boy is semi-hidden behind a full skirt, a wet-nurse’s uniform he guesses by the black apron and white stockings, and across from those two are the two other women, one the queen (he is sure of it by the short heels and purple gown, gold and red cape trailing behind her. The other he can all but guess, the elegant but plain clothes screaming lady-in-waiting, but he doesn’t speculate any further, his natural boyish curiosity getting the best of him as he tries to piece together the conversation being held.  
“I don’t want a man-servant, I want Anne.”  
“Harry, do not speak unless I ask you a question, understand? What have your tutors even taught you, honestly? And if you’re going to be king one day you can’t have your wet-nurse trailing around. Grow up, boy, we should have gotten rid of her years ago, but of course your father is too soft on you.”  
“But…”  
“No Harry, although why you should be granted this privilege is beyond me, seeing as you proved your immaturity yesterday when you went missing far past sundown. You want to be a man, don’t you?”  
“Yes, but…”  
“You want to be a knight of Camelot?”  
“Oh course mother, but…”  
“You wish to be the king one day?”  
“Mother, why would…”  
“Then do as I say. You have your first training day today, am I right? It is not my place to know your schedule and it is no longer Anne’s. We have gotten you a man-servant because that is what’s proper. You are going to let go of that woman’s skirts and we are going to leave, you will stay here, get dressed, and go meet your page by the stables, because that is what you were born to do. Now stop acting like a child and grow up, we don’t all get what we want.” The queen turns when she finishes, he cape billowing behind her with a flourish and her lady-in-waiting following two paces behind. The boy holds tighter onto the white skirts but only for a fleeting moment, his tiny feet dragging behind him as he watches the woman leave, soft pants coming from his direction long after the woman have left. The boy moves again, this time to sit at the small table that is placed in one corner of the lavish bedroom, his young feet swinging wantonly more than a hand’s width above the ground.  
“You don’t have to just stand there Louis.” The boy, his eyes still trained on the prince’s shoes, tenses, the voice utterly familiar and the longer he thinks about it the more dread falls upon him, starting at his shoulders and working down, turning around once they reach his clothed feet and setting towards his head. He raises his eyes, against everything he was ever taught mind you, and he inhales sharply at the sight before him, the young boy’s tear-streaked face and his bright green eyes focused on him with a slight arrogant amusement despite the fact that he was just crying about the loss of his nurse only moments before.  
“I don’t know what you are talking about, ‘sire. I am doing as what’s proper.” Louis drops his gaze again and chastises himself silently, wishing he had only listened to Zayn yesterday and stayed inside. Hilarious, he thinks, he could be helping in the kitchens preparing the castle’s morning meals at this very moment if only he had actually followed orders (but really, what is the fun in that?)  
“I pretty sure you decided to forgo being proper when you threw the crowned prince into a frog pond yesterday.”  
“I would not have if I had known you were more than a servant, ‘sire. Please grant me your forgiveness…”  
“I would call us even, I dare say, since I was the one to drop a frog down your trousers.” Louis desperately tried to hold in the traitorous smile that threatened to spread at the memory, but he held steadfast and kept his gaze locked on the clunky boots the prince wears, the left lace loosely coming undone, the tips dragging on the floor with every light kick of the prince’s legs.  
“Even so, ‘sire, it is not my place to…”  
“Oh come off it, there’s no need for this façade, if I was going to throw you in the stocks I would have done so by now, and although I’ve known you for so little it is my guess that you’ve become quite well acquainted with the stocks.” The young boy laughed more than spoke, not willing to admit his relief that his servant is a boy not much older than himself, and if yesterday was anything to go by, not as stuffy as the rest of the castle staff.  
“Oh yes,” the older boy spoke with a smile, finally looking up to meet the soft eyes poking out from behind loose ringlets, his wide smile pushing his cheeks up high and crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I know them quite well, and I have become quite dear friends with the city children also, in fact, they enjoy giving me tomatoes, although their eyesight much be quite shot because they always seem to miss my hand, my face receiving most of the vegetable.” The young price laughs at that, his fresh voice chiming softly around the bedchamber and his hands hitting together in a clap, as if his companion is but a jester there for his entertainment, and Louis can’t help but smile too, the laughter lifting his heart and softening his longing for his home and family, for his hatred for this desolate kingdom.  
Louis decides he won’t mind his new life too much if he gets to hear this boy laugh.

 

May 10th, 418 a.c.e. 

 

“He’s just so, perfect, you know? Just, the way he walks like he’s a purpose for everything, and just, his smile makes me want to smile, even if there isn’t a reason to. And just, he’s so…”  
“I get it, Sir Liam is dreamy and you wish he would bed you…”  
“No, no not just bed, I want to spend my life with him and…”  
“Find a new dream Zayn,” the darker boy’s shoulders slump and he bows his head so he’s no longer looking at the two knights conversing in the halls, instead focusing on his hands that are currently pulling at the pilling of the carpeting from where the two servants are kneeling, “it would be bad enough you being a servant and he a knight and noble, but you’re also a boy remember, of that I know far too much of ever since I walked in on you and Lady Margret in the broom cupboard…”  
“That was much your fault, you should have knocked. And us being two men shouldn’t matter so much,”  
“You know as much as I that nobles are quite hung up on producing heirs, so unless you have a special gift I don’t know about don’t hope for more than a night, and that’s probably wishing for too much anyways, for Sir Liam seems much too honorable to have an affair outside the sanctity of marriage.”  
“Since when, Lou, do you think about the sanctity of marriage?”  
“You know perfectly well that I don’t believe in the hypocrisy the Church spits at us, it’s just another way for the Royal Crown to control its subjects…”  
“Says the man who lies with the crowned prince…” The younger boy is cut off with a slap to the back of his head and a scoff, causing Zayn to let out a rather loud curse that may or may not have condemned the other’s mother. The two knights in the hallway look about to see the source of the noise but Louis and Zayn duck down further behind the oversized statue so as not to be seen, both boys trying hard to hold in their giggles desperately trying to burst out.  
“Firstly, the prince is not his father, and secondly this is a perfect example of what will happen to you. He needs an heir, one that I will never be able to give him, so he will have to look elsewhere. The king is already conversing with the Belar kingdom about the possibility of the prince’s marriage to Princess Danielle.” Zayn ducks his head again, his teeth poking out to bite at his bottom lip as he grasps his friend’s bicep and pulling him forward so he will look him in the eye.  
“I apologize, friend, that this is happening, if there’s anything…” Louis waves his free hand and softly pulls away, lifting his head to look at the knights again as to not have to see his friend’s pity.  
“There is no reason to apologize, Zayn. And it will be years besides, and after that I can manage. Now hush, here comes Niall…oh gods he’s just walking right past Sir Liam and Sir Andrew why…”  
“Hey lads!” A round pale face pops over the body of the broad statue the two boys are using to hide, his naturally loud voice amplified by the semi-empty corridor. Zayn stays ducked down, his head buried in his fellow servant’s shoulder out of mortification, but Louis strays a glance at the two young knights who look back at him with a dash of curiosity in their otherwise passive demeanor. Louis reaches out and grabs the squire’s clothed shoulder and pulls him down so he’s sprawled behind the statue with them. “Ow Lou, no reason to be violent…”  
“Did Sir Liam see me; does he think I’m incompetent and odd now, does he think I’m following him? Oh gods, what if he thinks I’m no better than those young maidens that watch his tourneys and throw out handkerchiefs at him…”  
“First off, mate, you aren’t any better than those maidens, you’re just better at hiding your desperation.” The blond says, sitting up so he’s facing his two friends while simultaneously rubbing at a bruise covering half his cheek from his early morning. “Second he doesn’t think you’re incompetent nor odd, but that’s just for the fact that he doesn’t know you exist.” Louis hits Niall over the head this time while Zayn just sits back with a frown of mortification, but the blond just shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s the truth though, not a bad thing—and why are you being so violent today anyway, I’ve already spent all day training with the prince and he’s getting more skilled every day. I’m not envious of whoever he fights in his first tourney next year.” Niall rolls his eyes at the dreamy smile that spreads on the other boy’s face, the same one that spreads every time the young prince is so much as mentioned, but he just turns to the other love-struck youth, patting him on the shoulder.  
“You could always trade morning work with Eleanor, you know. She gets to bring morning meal up to his courters and if you do it he might finally remember your name. I bet she would be happy to do it, you know.” Zayn sits up a bit straighter and his whole face visibly brightens at the suggestion, nodding along to his friend.  
“That’s really smart, actually. I apologize for calling you an airhead bimbo.” The blond scoffs but then stiffens, looking at his friend in confusion.  
“You’ve never called me an airhead bimbo…” Zayn shrugs and lets looks a mischievous smile that is very rarely seen.  
“Not to your face I haven’t…” Louis laughs as the blond punches the other boy in the arm non-too softly.  
________________________________________________  
“Hey Lou?” The older boy stirs but doesn’t open his eyes, his mind already muddled from being on the brink of sleep. “Louis, are you awake.”  
“Huh? What’s the matter, Harry.” Louis reaches up with one hand to stroke his love’s cheek while his own head is pillowed on the prince’s chest, his ear lying right over the steady heartbeat reminding him that this life is real and not just some bizarre dream.  
“Why don’t you ever talk about your family? Don’t you see them often?” The older boy stiffens and it doesn’t go unnoticed by the other as Harry tightens his arm around the other’s waist.  
“I haven’t seen them since I was but eight.” Louis whispers into the dark, his eyes yet to be open from his half-asleep state. Harry raises his head in order to look down at the boy in his arms and he gapes, his mouth opening and closing a few times before finally finding his words.  
“But why? Don’t they miss you?” Louis turns his head at the prince’s words, moving so his condescending smile is buried into the firm chest beneath him.  
“’Sire, where do you think servants come from?”  
“Uhh…but you…”  
“I have five younger sisters and no father, how do you suppose my mother pay for taxes? I wasn’t about to let them take one of my sisters, so I was sent here instead.” Louis moves in closer to Harry’s side and fights to find the edge of sleep that he was standing in before, but the confused gasping sound coming from above him tells the servant that this conversation isn’t finished yet.  
“But how would a mother allow her son to be taken away, what kind of mother…”  
“A mother that knows that I would be able to take care of myself here and would probably have a better life in the capitol that in a small village that is pillaged yearly. And no matter, I paid for six summers worth of taxes, by that time they should be able to save up a decent amount of money.” Harry breaths in through short spurts as Louis speaks into his skin, but the older one just smiles as he finally grasps the edge of sleep.  
“Don’t worry, darling, it’s not all bad. I do miss my family greatly but Stan’s family promised to watch over them, and one day when I’m older I plan on finding them again. And anyway, if I hadn’t been taken then how would I have met you?” 

 

May 10th 420 a.c.e. 

 

Harry hates how crowded Camelot gets during the spring because even though the crowds part and bow as he walks past he still has to remain proper, regal as his mother used to say. And running down the halls isn’t proper, no matter how much in a hurry he may be. Sir Liam walks beside him, his closest companion (as close as one can be to the crown prince, that is) and although their steps are measured and sure the prince is still obviously rushed, his infamous grimace just slightly faltered and his close knight obviously troubled and confused. The crowds part and bow accordingly, as do the guards outside his bedchambers, but Harry just waves them off with a flourish of the hand and he enters, leaving behind a confused knight in his wake. It’s much quieter inside, as it should be, and only one other body stands in the room.  
As is expected the prince’s bedchambers is large, the plush bed taking up the center of the room, it’s four posters reaching the high ceilings and the curtains drawn back in a lazy knot. There’s a small table near the fireplace where morning meal is eaten and a large dark screen nearby to cover the bathing tub, a tall cupboard to the side to hold the price’s tunics and such with a twin on the left to hold his armor. In the far corner of the room is a smaller bed, more a plank than anything else, half hidden in the shadow that is meant for the prince’s man-servant, and although it’s seldom used anymore that is where a trembling man lays now, face down with his arms to his sides.  
“Get on the bed while I grab some bandages and water.”  
“Blood…”  
“I’ll change the sheets later, now don’t argue.” The prince rifles through the cupboard but finds himself utterly hopeless, not knowing what to get until the servant calls out instruction as he gingerly lays on top of the blankets on the prince’s bed. Grabbing the bandages, cream to ward off infection and a cup of water the prince makes his way to the side of the bed, slowly sitting on the edge as to not jostle the other. Harry thanks the gods for small favors when he realizes that they didn’t leave Louis’ tunic on so that the clothing wouldn’t infuse to his skin and be even more painful to take off, but he still clenches his teeth and bares it, knowing if he does anything he would ruin whatever peace he has. Louis winces as Harry pours the water over his back but doesn’t make a noise until the prince starts to rub at the many bloodied cuts the lashings left.  
“Don’t rub, pat it…softly.”  
“Why didn’t you go see the court physician?”  
“Servants aren’t allowed to, you know that perfectly well. The physician for the servants comes twice a week but he’s not here until two more days. I can just wait a bit longer; Zayn can help once the day is done.” Louis speaks into the pillow his face is buried in, only half the words making its way to the prince’s ears.  
“The day has all but begun, Louis. But tell me, how this has happened, it’s never been this bad. I know the rumors are false for there is not a chance that you could be stupid enough to assault a knight, visiting or not.” Louis continues to pant into the pillow, his arms braced at his sides while his hands are fisting the sheets. Harry finishes cleaning off the dried blood in silence, moving on to softly spreading the cream on his many deep cuts with one hand, his other gently stroking the servant’s hair. Louis tries to hold in the pained cries that he so desperately wants to let out, but the whimpers fall out anyway, his pained yells preventing him from answering the other’s question until after he’s finished, moving on to wrapping the gauze that is normally saved for nobility around his middle.  
“I did as they say, although how anyone could call him a knight is beyond me, he doesn’t deserve the title.”  
“Louis, you can’t say…”  
“I can and I will. No one, not even a servant, should be forced to do what he was demanding of Eleanor. He was pulling her as she cried into his room by the hair and I was walking past, what would you ask of me to do?”  
“Louis…”  
“No, ‘Sire, I did what I know is right, and I wouldn’t change that.” Harry finishes wrapping and ties the end before slowly lowering Louis back down onto the bed, still stroking his hair long after they stop talking. The servant drifts in and out of consciousness for a while and the prince moves only to get more water from the jug on the table or to replace the bandages once blood starts to soak through, and neither speak until the sun goes down again.  
“Louis, why don’t you ever call me by my name anymore?” The servant stirs and turns his head to look at the other man who has now moved to lay beside him.  
“It is not my place to.” Louis says, his watering eyes half closed in order to welcome sleep back with open arms. The prince shakes his head, frowning at the man next to him.  
“But don’t you see, your place is next to me.”

 

May 10th 419 a.c.e. 

 

“Just look at him, all sweaty and…”  
“Zayn, shut up or I’ll shut you up, alright?” Louis shoulders his friend without taking his eyes off the two men in the circle, swords swinging with precision as they engage in a dance of honor.  
“Don’t be so prissy, just because your little man-candy is going to be fighting for the first time today…” Louis looks at the other boy this time as his hand flies up to cover his friend’s mouth, quickly glancing around to make sure no one around them heard.  
“Zayn, you can’t talk about that so openly, what if someone heard?” He pulls his hand off and turns back to the fight but the other servant just laughs, scooting in closer so the others surrounding them can’t hear.  
“I’m pretty sure everyone knows by now, it’s not that much of a secret. Honestly I bet the king is happy more than anything, glad you’re not a woman so that the prince doesn’t end up with any greedy bastard children…” he’s quickly cut off with a cuff to the back of the head.  
“Zayn, shut up and don’t be so crude…”  
“You do know it’s expected for the price to hold a mistress, right? People are actually confused as to why he only keeps one…oh don’t look so hurt, those that matter can see he likes you much more than a convenient fuck, what with the raging heart eyes he keeps sending you and all, but those in power can’t know that, now can they? You’ll be seen as a threat or what have you…oh dear lord Sir Liam is taking off his tunic…”  
“You don’t think the prince is enjoying the company of anyone else, do you?” Louis asks his friend in vain, though, as Zayn’s focus is strictly on the knight now standing over the visitor, his sword pointed right at the other’s neck.  
“Gods, what I would give to have his sword in my…”  
“Oh forget it, where’s Niall…”  
“Right here!” The blond plops down between the two boys without much finesse, forcing them each to scoot over to make room as he throws his arms around each of their shoulders. “I’ve got money on the prince, he basically just beat the crap out of me…”  
“Niall, watch your language…”  
“…as we were warming up. He’s way too good, although it should be expected since the king was a legend back in his day. Speaking of which, here’s the prince now!” Louis tensed as he watches the young boy take the ring, cheers surrounding them on all sides. His opponent is obviously more skilled, at least bigger and older more than anything, at least a head taller and twice as wide as the prince. Niall is still talking, raving at as long as the boy stays focused there isn’t any way he could lose, but Louis knows better, can see in the way Harry’s arm is shaking that he’s too nervous to properly fight. The two opponents bow and raise their swords, wielding at the same time but the prince just a second too slow, his hesitance playing against him as he staggers back, his sword only barely blocking the attack. It goes on like this, the prince only just staying defended, never getting in a strike and slowly dwindling, the crowd waiting until the other knight casts a final blow to knock the young prince to the ground. Niall is still going on about how this should be child’s play, how the prince is much better than this and he has no reason to be nervous, and Louis knows this is the truth.  
Louis isn’t known for thinking things out.  
By this time the crowd is standing so Louis steps onto the seat, going unnoticed by his friends who are absorbed into the fight. Cupping his hands around his mouth he calls out as loud as his lungs will attest, shocking those around him and most of the crowd.  
“Come on Harry, beat the shit out of him!” The visiting knight pauses, looking to see who dared to use the prince’s name, but the other smiles behind his armor, laughing at the usually respectable man’s crude words, and he promptly swings out, hitting the knight in the side with enough force to knock him to his knees, and there is few blows left before the prince is standing in victory over the other knight, his wide grin reaching his eyes as he looks down, not seeing his servant carted off by the royal guards, forgetting that for a commoner to use a Royal’s Christian name is punishable by a week in the dungeons and forty lashings.

 

May 10th 425 a.c.e. 

 

The wedding is an affair of the state, towns peoples and villagers alike gathering around the castle in hopes of a glimpse of the new king and his beautiful wife and celebrations fill the street with parties and alcohol and cheering filling the streets. Inside it is not so joyous.  
“Did you hear that the king didn’t spend the marriage night with the queen? Yah, I heard he left not long after, looking distraught. Lady Annabelle told Elizabeth that she saw the king sitting outside by the frog pond all night, just staring at it.”  
“I bet the queen is terrible in bed, that’s what I heard.”  
“I heard all of those dark-skinned foreigners aren’t as pleasing, the king is probably displeased that he couldn’t take a wife from a noble family here, but his father already had the Princess—Queen—Danielle lined up for him.”  
“Good thing no one expects him to be faithful then, I mean, my bed’s always open…”  
“As are your legs, Dianna.”  
“Well, no one can deny the king is attractive…” The servant girls finish their giggling without much more gossip, piling the dirty plates in the kitchen before leaving for the day, not one of them noticing the two men who are huddled behind the cabinets, sitting in silence until they could be alone. Louis shifts from his spot in between the king’s legs and looks up, moving his head back so he can look him in the eyes as best he can from this position.  
“You didn’t sit out there all night, did you?” The man shrugs, lifting on hand to card through his thick curls and his other tightening around the servant’s waist. “The whole point of getting a wife is to spend the nights together.” Harry shakes his head at Louis’ words, scoffing at them with a sigh.  
“That’s not true, you know. The whole point of getting a wife is to show stability to the country and to produce an heir. Those are your words, if I’m not mistaken.” Harry whispers into the other’s ear, moving so his face is buried in the older man’s hair as to not have to look in his eyes and see what hurt may lie there.  
“It’s hard to produce an heir when you don’t lie with her, if I’m not mistaken, although I can’t call myself an expert on these things seeing how I’ve never lied with a woman myself.” Harry hugs Louis closer to his chest but doesn’t lift his head to speak, only softly biting a few strands of hair in answer. “You know, ‘sire, Niall said that throughout the whole wedding you looked on the verge of tears. I told him, I did, ‘tears of joy, I hope’ and he laughed. Now, I know it’s not fairly uncommon for your scribe to laugh, but may I ask you, why did he find it so funny?”  
“Darling, I hope you aren’t fishing for compliments.”  
“It is but the opposite, ‘sire. I want you to promise me that you will do as is expected. If it will be easier I could leave, you could send me to a nobleman’s place or to…”  
“Don’t speak of that, Louis. I don’t see why you insist on acting as if this is just a casual coupling. I love…”  
“Don’t say it my love, it just makes it that much harder.” Harry shakes his head but doesn’t press, allowing them to go back to the silence that held them before and wishing that he could just stay hidden with Louis in the kitchens forever, because honestly he doesn’t think real life is worth the pain.

 

May 10th 422 a.c.e.

 

“Do you wish to shrink your duties, is that it child? Because I shouldn’t see any other reason that one would refuse a marriage.” Harry shakes his head and opens his mouth to answer his father, but the king raises his hand in silence, not caring about his son’s desperate answer. Louis sits in the corner of the room trapped in this awkward position, unable to leave the room lest upset the king. The servant smiles to himself even though this is a completely inappropriate moment to do so, but the fear of the king makes him giddy for no reason in particular except for his stupid reflex to laugh in the face of fear.  
“No father, it’s just that…”  
“That what? If you daresay love I’m not sure what I’ll do, because certainly my only son wouldn’t be so naive, you sister certainly wasn’t when she left to live with her husband in Gondir.” Harry shakes his head in dismay, not knowing how to fight with his father, the king, on this matter.  
“It’s not that father, but I’m not sure if I’m ready for a marriage yet, I’ve only had twenty summers yet, isn’t it much too early?”  
“Non-sense, I was wed at eighteen, your sister at sixteen. You are getting much too old already, do you not want to provide your kingdom with heirs? Remember you are the only remaining male left in our line, do you wish to leave your kingdom in turmoil?”  
“Of course not father, but I don’t…”  
“You don’t what? Wish to wed? That is absurd, most of my knights, and by extension yours, are wed, are they not?” The prince shakes his head once more, his long curls falling into his eyes as he stares at the ground, planning his words in a way not to offend his father.  
“Father, I can’t and won’t wed yet, I find it much too early and I would not be able to focus on leading our knights in training if I am in need to keeping a wife…”  
“You will do as I say, child!” The prince’s shoulders tense but he raises his head, meeting the piercing gave of his father as he does so, the two men staring at each other unwavering, neither one willing to break, and Louis suddenly realizes where Harry’s stubbornness comes from.  
“I will not marry as of yet and I cannot be forced, may I remind you that there are no more children in our family, I am your last heir and if I was to say…disappear…much shame would come upon you, no?” The king scowls at his son, ready for another hot retort but he pauses mid-word when he realizes his son is willing to blackmail him in exchange for bachelorhood.  
“Are you threatening me, your king? How dare…”  
“No father, I am simply reminding you of an inconvenient truth.” Harry keeps his chin raised and his eyes level, not unlike the way Louis trained him as a child to talk to the older boys he sword-trained with who teased him. The king opens his mouth to answer but closes right away, shaking his head at his son but saying no more, leaving the room without another word, unknown for the king…he never lets someone else have the last say. Harry stands in the same spot for a while, focusing on calming his breathing, an exercise he always has to preform after meeting with his father, and this meeting was unprepared, unannounced. He has never been visited by the king in his private chambers. He’s lucky Louis woke up early, or else his father would have seen him in a rather compromising state with his servant.  
“Louis,” the prince turns swiftly, frightening the other boy enough for him to jump, reaching out to grab the side of the table to steady himself and his racing heart. “you agree with me, no?” Harry walks forward, giving the other an awkward smile and half a hug, conjoining them at the waist and resting their foreheads together.  
“I’m not sure…I—I agree with you that it seems a bit early, but ‘sire, you are planning to wed eventually, are you not?” Louis doesn’t lower his gaze even when Harry pulls his face back a bit, looking at him with narrow eyes and thin lips (a rather feating task, mind you, since the prince has absurdly perfect lips).  
“Why would you want me to wed, Louis?” The older boy smiles and shakes his head, pulling the other forward to kiss his cheek before resting their foreheads together once more.  
“If it were up to me you would be wed to me, love, but that is not how this world works. Maybe one day that would be the ways of men, but it isn’t today. The whole point of a royal marriage is to show stability to your nation, to produce an heir, preferably two in case the first one dies, mind you.” By this time Harry’s pulled away all together, staring at his servant with calculating eyes.  
“You are not to tell me of the ways of my kingdom, I know…”  
“I never meant to scold you, love, and I more than anyone do not wish you to wed, believe me. But no matter how much we want this to be not so, and thinking otherwise is just stupid.”  
“Are you calling me stupid? I am the prince I am not…”  
“If your plan is not to be married than yes, I’m calling you mad, it is not the first time I’ve said it and it’ll not be the last. You say that I am dear to you because I tell you the truth, and that is what I’m doing now, I’m not going to coddle you…”  
“No one coddles me!” Harry’s fuming now, not so much as from this conversation as from his father, but it’s the truth of his love’s words that are pushing him over the edge, for the truth is not easy to hear when one is running away from it.  
“Darling everyone coddles you, you’re the prince…”  
“A fact that you would do ruddy well to remember, seeing how you’re nothing but a slave who deserted his own family!” Louis is the one to tense at that, his eyes narrowing and Harry does well to take a step back, because even though he’s much taller and probably stronger, when Louis’ angered he is frightening, looking much bigger than he is and eyes flaming in a way that magic could only accomplish before him.  
“I will forget you said that since you’ve been having such a difficult time ever since your mother’s death, but I hope you know that…”  
“And you said you weren’t scolding me? Because I’m sure what you are doing is treating me as a child…”  
“And that is how I’ll treat you if that is how you act!” Before Harry realizes what he’s doing his hand is striking out, his palm smacking across the other’s cheek before either of the boys can say more, sending the smaller boy staggering until he can balance himself against the table, his mouth open in a gape, mirroring the price’s own face. Harry reaches out the offending hand but the other shrinks away for a moment before straightening up, standing as if nothing’s happened, nodding once to his prince.  
“I promised Zayn I would help him in the stables this morning, because that is a servants place, mucking out the stables. I will see you tonight to draw you a bath.” He nods once more and walks off, leaving his prince to cry.

 

May 10th 423 a.c.e.

 

“Boy, you shouldn’t go in there, the prince explicitly asked to be left alone, and that anyone who disturbs him will be sentenced to death, no matter their rank…”  
“First of all, I’m not a boy, you insolent beast, I’ve seen twenty-three summers. And second, I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sure he’s not going to kill me, seeing how I sleep with him and all. Now move before I move you.” The guard knows that he’s got a good seventy pounds on the servant and he would be able to take him in a fist fight with one hand tied behind his back, but as Niall likes to say “no one is more scary than a sassy Louis, and no one is more able to invoke terror in those in power than a determined Louis” (as stated after a rather close call with a late-night expedition to the local pub and a rather nosy guard, but honestly who in their right mind thinks that just because they’re servants means that they won’t have a few drunk nights out).  
Inside the curtains around the bed is drawn, hiding the future king from the world, buried beneath layers of blankets. The servant stalks over to the window and flings the curtains open with a flourish, allowing the light into the dusky bedchamber. He does the same for all five floor-length windows and then he snuffs out the fire, which was turning musky and smoky, before pulling back the curtains to the bed, to the great disturbance of the prince.  
“I order you to put them back, I am sleeping and I will not…”  
“Harry, you are going to get up right now and bath, then I will dress you and send you on your way to train your knights, for it has already been five mornings you’ve missed and I will not tolerate one more, my love.” The prince shakes his head and turns the other way, but the servant doesn’t relent, climbing onto the bed in order to pull the covers off (not an easy task with a fully trained knight holding them close, but Louis is determined and he knows Harry will relent eventually, he always does).  
“Louis, please come back.” The servant pauses from where he’s now drawing a bath from the water a few maids brought up and he glance back at the prince who is now seated naked on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands and curls falling over his face.  
“I’m right here love, there isn’t any need to worry…”  
“No, I mean I want you to come back to me, I need you, I can’t do this anymore…”  
“Love,” Louis pulls his head out of his hands and he rests their foreheads together, staring at the copper-green eyes of the only boy who will ever be able to control his heart, make him hurt so much but make everything perfect at the same time. “I’ve never left, I’m right here. I’m sorry I haven’t been around, with your father’s death, I was only being petty, I should never have agreed to serve on that expedition…”  
“But I told you to, I made you go as a server for Liam, you didn’t have a choice, you can’t…”  
“How are you, ‘sire?” The prince’s chin trembles but he doesn’t relent, not allowing himself to cry, he’s weak enough, just shaking his head and pulling the other in to a crushing hug, forcing Louis to go sprawling half in his lap and half on the bed. Louis smiles into the younger man’s neck and hugs him back, mumbling endearments into his neck as he does.  
“Louis?” The other man mumbles a few words, showing that he is listening. “Do you remember our first kiss?” The servant nods and pushes his face further into his love’s neck, muttering about how could he forget? “I told you that I don’t want anyone else but you, but you said that I was too young to say such a thing, that I was only fourteen, how could I decide the outcome of my whole life? I told you that I knew, though, that you’re the only one who would ever be able to tell me how much of an idiot I am but still make it sound like a compliment…even my own knights don’t dare to tell me the truth. I told you that I’m going to have you even if I have to wait until I’m old and gray. I kissed you the next moment though, so I guess I wasn’t as inclined to wait.” Louis giggles, knowing just how short the prince’s attention span really is, even when he doesn’t like to admit it. “That was a wonderful kiss though, that’s for sure. Although every kiss with you is a wonderful kiss, so that’s true. Hey Louis?”  
“Yes love?”  
“Why don’t you ever allow me to tell you I love you?” The servant breathes out through his nose, the air hitting the prince’s neck, but he doesn’t move from his spot in Harry’s arms.  
“It makes everything easier if we pretend, my love. Let us pretend a bit longer, yes?”

 

May 10th 426 a.c.e.

 

“I don’t see why you don’t just tell the king about her.” Louis shakes his head at Zayn words, looking around the corner to make sure the two aren’t overheard.  
“Because there isn’t a reason to, if she needs an outlet for her anger, than let it be me rather anyone else.” Louis whispers, causing Zayn to shake his head and roll his eyes as he continues to polish one of the visiting knight’s armor.  
“That’s ridiculous, you shouldn’t allow her to do such horrid…”  
“Think about it Zayn, I’m what took her dream away. What do young girls wish for when they are young? Huh? They wish for a prince to sweep them off their feet and love them. I’m what took this love away, she sees me as an enemy, I stole this dream from her when it was so close, so attainable. She is a good queen, the people love her, she is kind to all the staff and she does her duty, if tormenting me is what is keeping her sane then so be it.”  
“Louis, you’re sometimes too…”  
“I don’t want to talk about this any longer, what news do you have on the Sir Fancy Kickers front?” Zayn visibly brightens at Louis’ change of topic, forgetting all together what they were discussing before.  
“I talked to him again yesterday, he said that the oats were really good, that he enjoyed it! What do you think that means, do you think he likes me?”

May 10th 429 a.c.e.

 

“You can’t be pregnant, my queen, that’s not possible.” She shakes her head, stopping him from enquiring any further.  
“No, my king, it’s not possible that the child can be yours.”

 

May 10th 427 a.c.e.

 

“We talk almost every morning now, he sometimes even tells me about his training or his family, he talked about his mother yesterday, that must mean something, right Louis?” The older boy nods and smiles at the darker boy, adjusting the laundry in his arms so that he can pat his friend on the back.  
“Yes, yes, and maybe by the next decade he will call you by your proper name!” Zayn’s eyes glow as he gets ready to retort, but he stops short when Louis raises an arm to stop him, his face twisted in shock as he looks at the sight before him. Zayn turns his head to see what is so disturbing and he promptly drops the linens in his arms, freezing in a turmoil of emotions as he stares at the queen lost in an embrace with Sir Liam, her head thrown back as he sucks at her neck on her neck, pushing her back against the wall with his weight as she pushes forward in a practiced motion. Zayn’s arm flings wildly to grab at his friend’s elbow, his blunt nails digging in deeply as they do no more than stare at the sight before them. At the sound of the linens dropping Sir Liam looks up with a start, seeing the two servants his face reddens up to the tips of his ears and he pulls back, his face blazing as he straightens his shirt and the obvious tent in his trousers, looking anywhere but the two shocked faces in front of him. The queen is much less ruffled, rising in a manner only the privileged can do, pushing her shoulders back and straightening her hair as if she hadn’t been caught in such a compromising position with one of the king’s, her husband’s, closest companions.  
“It’s a bit hypocritical, don’t you think, that the king can have someone on the side and I can’t? Even if what he has is a whore.”  
______________________________________  
The two bodies rock together in the dark, no sound but the slapping of skin and the panting breaths filling the bedchamber, two hands flinging out to hold onto the headboard as he tries to brace himself against the increasingly more powerful thrusts against him while the other reaches up to push the wet curls out of his eyes as he continues to rock into the other, harder than he normally would until he spills with a cry, the other man following not far behind. The prince falls onto his lover with an exhaled breath, not slipping out until his pants even out and the body beneath him starts to squirm with discomfort. Rolling onto his back he pulls the other into his side, tightly holding him around the waist while his other hand tangles their fingers together, closing his eyes to welcome the dark.  
“What happened?” The prince opens his eyes but doesn’t answer the other man, simply looking down at him before pulling him in further until there isn’t a breath’s space between them. “Did you talk to them?”  
“Yes. It has come to my attention that Sir Liam is in love with the queen.” Louis nods and adjusts his head so he’s resting right above the beat of Harry’s heart, his favorite place to sleep.  
“And what is going to happen now?”  
“Sir Liam is leading the patrol through the northern part of the kingdom, he will be back in about a year or two, depending.”  
“Isn’t that…”  
“A bit hypocritical of me? Yes it is, but that’s how the world works. Hopefully by the time the knight returns he will have forgotten about her and is ready to find a new Lady who is more proper to fulfill the role of his love.”  
“Harry…”  
“What is it, my love?”  
“Aren’t you meant for an heir by now? You have seen but twenty-seven summers now, isn’t it about time? The people have begun to worry…”  
“Let us not worry about that now, I wish to sleep, don’t you?”  
“Harry, you can’t keep hiding from fate forever, you need to have…”  
“I do not need anything, I have already been decided the greatest king in our nation’s history, I have all but unified all the kingdoms under one rule, that is my fate! I don’t need…”  
“You are called the people’s king, are you not? And if the people wish for you to have a child, proof that the kingdom will live on after your death, that all your hard work will not fall to turmoil, then so be it.”  
“Why do you insist…”  
“Do you think I like this, having to see you bed another? Do you think I like having to convince you to have a child, one that I cannot give you? I want what is best for you, even if it makes me hurt more than you could know. I love you, Harry, and I’m not going to let myself hold you down from what you are destined to do.”  
“Louis…”  
“What is it?”  
“That’s the first time you’ve said that you love me.”

May 10th 431 a.c.e.

 

“And now that the perpetrators have been seen to death, our court can return to its original course, that is, making sure that the kingdoms stay as one, something we all would like to do in Sir Liam’s honor, I am sure. ‘Sire, do you have anything you would like to say? ‘Sire?” Harry shakes his head, as if to wake himself from a horrible dream (he cannot wake up, he finds out much too late) and he looks up to the speaking knight, a man by the name of Sir Simon, someone who served alongside his father and has helped greatly with the unification of the land. The king shakes his head, failing to wake up from his nightmare, and he stands, turning towards the door before he can bow to the knights around the table, as was custom.  
Sir Simon follows him to the kings bedchambers and watches him as the young man shouts and cries, throwing glass and table without abandonment in rage and only stopping when he is physically spent, falling into the arms of the older man, sobbing into his shoulder as he cries for the man who gave his life for him, the servant who will never be honored in the court and will never hold him in his arms again. 

 

May 10th 433 a.c.e.

 

“You must be Zayn, right? Louis would talk so much about you in his letters, in much too gory a detail, may I add.” The servant laughs in embarrassment at this idea that his private life was shared with such a close friend’s mother, but he couldn’t expect any less from the boy, now could he? The woman smiles at him, telling him some of the stories she read about in the letters her son would send to her, holding her eldest daughter’s arm as she relives her child’s memory, smiling at the escapades he would get up to. Harry stands at the end of the corridor, frozen in his spot as he stares at the women standing not far ahead of him, spitting images of his lost love, their light hair holding the same golden streaks as he and their eyes the same twinkling blue, but lacking the same mischievous smile and loving arms, lacking the obvious elven charm and almost regal beauty. And his heart ached.  
“You have curly hair.” Startled from his dream the king looks down, taking a minute to register that the young boy is speaking to him, pulling on Harry’s long cape to gather his attention. The boy must be around six and is obviously with the women, his glowing tan and sun streaked hair attesting to that, but the first thing that assures Harry that he’s indeed related to his love is the eyes, the young boy holding the same fiery passion and curiosity Louis’ did back when they first met, back when they were youths and playing in the frog pond and the world was a mystery instead of a pending hell. Harry notices the same curious smile playing across the young one’s lips as Louis’ held whenever he had a mischievous scheme, whether it be going for a ride at night without bringing along a brigade of guards or just sneaking down to the kitchens to steal one of the fruit tarts Mary liked to bake. Without realizing what he is doing the king kneels down to look the young boy right in the eye, smiling with his eyes in a way that he hasn’t been able to do in a very long time. He reaches up and pulls on a curl, as if surprised to see that it’s there and not the average straight hair that is so common in this kingdom, and he giggles when the little boy pulls on the curls as well, a bit harder than he would have normally liked.

“Well look at that, I guess I do. Now I see you have blue eyes, do you know that?” The little boy huffs and puts his chubby little fists on his hips, looking at the man as if it’s obvious.

“Of course I know that, my mommy says I have eyes just like my uncle Louis. She always seems sad when she says that, although she never answers when I ask her why. You look sad too, though. Are you going to tell me why you’re sad? Because I don’t understand why people get sad, it takes the fun out of the day when you’re sad.” Harry tries to smile again but it falls as he mentally agrees with this boy’s mother, he looks exactly like Louis.

“I’m sad because I lost someone I cared about very much, someone I loved very dearly.” The little boy cocks his head and drops his arms as if he doesn’t understand.

“But if the other person loved you as much as you seem to love them, wouldn’t they want you to be happy instead of sad? Because if if my mummy lost me I wouldn’t want her to be sad all the time, I would still want her to sing while she bakes and to chase daddy whenever he steals her broom.” Harry closed his eyes and this time it isn’t a chore to smile, imagining how Louis also used to sing while changing their beddings or helping Harry put on his armor before a tourney or how Louis used to chase him around their bedchamber when Harry would steal Louis’ clothing in the mornings, saying how much better he looks without trousers. 

“You’re right, he would want me to be happy, but sometimes it takes a while to be able to do that again. You’re quite wise for someone so young, child, pray. What is your name?”

“Louis!” It’s not the little boy’s voice that yells out this time though, instead being the woman’s daughter, about five years younger than Louis would have been, running over to pick up her son, stuttering out apologies to the king as he attempts a curtsy, quite a task mind you with a six-year-old squirming in your arms. Harry shakes his heads and stands with giggles on his lips, greeting the woman with a hug and asking her and her family to attend supper with him, for someone with such wise a child must be grand. 

 

May 10th 434 a.c.e.

 

Harry can’t help but laugh as he watches the young child fall into the pond, sitting up in the shallow water with wide eyes, as if not knowing how he got here, not remembering that he was leaning so far over the edge looking at the frogs that he fell in.  
“Come here child, I have a blanket.” The little boy looks up with a renewed mischievous smile, standing up slowly with faux innocence in his wide blue eyes before bolting out of the pond right at the king, getting the regal purple robed soaked and the curls dripping wet. “Oh that’s it, I’ve got you now little one.” Kneeling down Harry pretends to creep forward on his knees, trying to look scary but failing as his smile plays across his face, the light wind blowing his damp curls over his eyes. Suddenly with a lunge he moves forward, grabbing the seven-year-old in a hug while simultaneously covering him in the blanket, the child squealing with glee as he struggles to get out of the hold. With much struggle Harry finally some-what gets the little boy dry (as dry as he can be, anyway, with soaking wet clothes and frogs jumping all around him) and they both sit at the water’s edge, looking down at the tadpoles in the water with renewed wonder, giggling every time a frog would hop out of the water and onto a lily pad.  
“Uncle Harry?”  
“Yes, Lou?” The boy looks up at the king with eyes only a child can wear, not yet weathered by the hurt life will later undeniably bring to him.  
“Was Uncle Louis your favorite person?”  
“He still is, I daresay.” The little boy nods, as if content with that answer, and he reaches out again to try and catch a frog, but Harry pulls him back before he can fall back in. “So who is your favorite person, then?” The little boy sits back and looks up at the sky, as if contemplating a heavy choice and smiling when he reaches his answer.  
“I would say mummy, but actually I think it’s Lydia.”  
“Lydia as in Uncle Niall and Aunt Eleanor’s daughter?” The little boy nods again and turns back towards the water with a grin.  
“Yup, I’ve already asked her to marry me and she said yes, but we have to have a but wedding with yellow daisies or else she won’t. Will you help me get the yellow daisies?”  
“Of course, child, but you might want to wait a bit longer, you have your whole life to marry her.” The little boy smiles up at the king, biting his bottom lip not unlike what his Uncle used to do when he wanted to ask something but didn’t know how.  
“Uncle Harry, how did Uncle Louis die?” The king doesn’t move from where he’s watching the water, dipping one hand in and watching the tadpoles nibble on his ring finger.  
“Someone very mean wanted me dead, and so at a state dinner he sent in a bunch of other mean men to kill me. My dear friend Sir Liam died also, that day. Uncle Louis stepped in front of someone before they were able to stab me.” The little boy continues to bite at his lip, not sure if he should ask anything else, but once he decides that the king isn’t going to brush him off as his mother does he opens his mouth again.  
“Did Uncle Louis know that you love him?”  
“Yes, yes I’m sure he did.” The boy smile then, as if everything is okay, and he stands up, pulling on the purple cape attached to his friend as he does so.  
“Good, now let’s go inside, I heard Mary was making fruit tarts.”

 

May 9th 414 a.c.e.

 

“You have curly hair.”  
“Yup. You’re not wearing shoes.” The shoe-less boy smiles, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth as he nods, holding the frog up to show the new boy.  
“I’m Louis, I named him Roger, because he looks like a Roger, doesn’t he?”  
“I’m Harry. Can I hold him?” Louis nods and hands the frog over, but instantly regrets it with a yelp as the younger child drops the frog down the other’s tunic, laughing as if it’s the first time he’s ever laughed before. Louis points at him with a smile, wagging his finger a bit and charging, picking up the smaller boy in his arms and dropping him in the pond, jumping in after him with a yell and deciding that they’re going to be quite good friends.


End file.
